


Be Mine

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Beta Peter Hale, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Declarations Of Love, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Gift Giving, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rutting, Scent Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, Valentine's Day, Vibrators, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: Granted, Peter isn’t the sort of man to deny himself what he wants, especially when it comes to things of a carnal nature, so there’s obviously an unspoken reason for his delay. What that might be, Stiles isn’t sure, but he doesn’t much care since it's clear the man has now set aside his reservations to take their relationship into uncharted territory.Territory of the sexy variety, in case that wasn’t clear.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 38
Kudos: 291
Collections: Steter Discord Valentine's Exchange 2021





	Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vMures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vMures/gifts).



> This is my Steter Discord Valentine's Exchange gift for the lovely V. Mures.
> 
> I latched onto the kink prompts you gave me, and this is what my brain came up with—basically just a few thousand words of smut. But, to be fair, it is Valentine's Day, so I sorta have the perfect excuse to write shameless porn. 
> 
> I've tagged under-negotiated kink purely for the fact that they haven't discussed the Daddy thing beforehand, but I'm probably just being overcautious as per.
> 
> There are probably mistakes, but at this point, it's best we all just pretend they don't exist.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this; it was such a delight writing for you.
> 
> Also, thank you to [resiliantreyna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resilientreyna) for reading this over, even though it isn't your ship, and giving me some suggestions; I really appreciate it!

Stiles stares down at the box in his hand, eyes roving over the flurry of pink tissue paper, blinking exaggeratedly as if expecting the contents to grow lips and explain themselves.

It's a vibrator; years of education have allowed him to tell that much. A long, thick silver vibrator that he has no idea in hell where it hailed from.

He folds the lid of cardboard back over, scanning each side for the umpteenth time in search of any clue as to who might’ve sent him such a _gift_. All that's written on the front in pretentious (can handwriting be pretentious?) gold cursive is his name, no printed label with his address, no company details. Nothing. The packaging entirely bare and unobtrusive.

Huffing in frustration, he takes the offending object from the box, the hefty weight of it surprises him, the smooth exterior cold against his palm. He assesses its every angle, eyebrows furrowed in a permanent state of confusion as he fails to discover the whereabouts of the on/off switch.

Maybe it has a remote?

Or a map?

He dives further into the box, tearing apart the thin crepe paper, sagging in defeat as nothing else seems to accompany the toy. Perhaps it’s not a vibrator as he initially thought; it's maybe just a standard dildo?

He dismisses that idea instantaneously; the shape and color of it closely resemble a few of those ‘small, but mighty’ bullets he's seen advertised on sex shop websites; it’s just significantly bigger.

He scratches the top of his head, baffled by his own reluctance to admit he's wasting his time even dwelling on it. It's clearly one of the pack's idea of a joke. Probably Jackson.

It’s always Jackson.

After the whole wasabi in his toothpaste incident, the jackass spent a good few days telling Stiles the many creative—and frankly disturbing—ways in which he could go fuck himself.

Guess he was serious.

The box had been sitting on his bed when he got home from work, so either his dad brought it in from the mailbox before heading to the station or whoever sent the gift—Jackson being the leading suspect, if that wasn’t already apparent—broke in with the sole purpose of leaving him a dildo.

It’s laughable, really. If he were to do the research, he’d probably discover it to be the first crime of its kind in history.

He rules out his father; the man rarely picks up the post on his days off, let alone the day after working the night shift. He usually has just about enough energy to get dressed, make his coffee, and trudge to his cruiser; his son’s mysterious packages aren’t really on his list of priorities.

If he’s honest, Stiles is hella thankful for that, especially with some of the stuff he gets delivered to the house. Sex toys are pretty tame in comparison to some of the items he’d really rather his father didn’t discover in his mailbox.

Thinking more on it, Jackson doesn’t possess balls big enough to outright break into the Sheriff’s home, nor does he have the intelligence—nor the class—to keep the item as discreetly packaged as it is. Knowing the dumb jock, he’d have bought one of those realistic flesh-colored things with a suction cup and, instead of wasting time boxing it up, would’ve just stuck it to Stiles’ bedroom window before bolting.

Nah, this is the work of someone with a little more flair, someone bold enough to sneak into the house of the Sheriff and leave zero traces.

Someone with a motive. 

Stiles startles out of his investigative musings, his phone buzzing ominously on his nightstand, screen lighting up the parts of the room not already illuminated by his lamp with the incoming call. Tightening his fist protectively around the toy, he leans over to grab the device, eyes too distracted by the glistening metallic coating that he forgets to check the caller ID before answering. "Hello?"

"Do you like your present?" A thick gravelly voice echoes through the speaker, blood instantly rushing to Stiles’ cheeks in response.

" _Peter?_ ” he squawks, taking the phone away from his ear, checking the name to confirm his suspicions. “This was you? Ugh, what am I saying? Of course, this was you.”

It’s actually quite concerning that he didn’t figure that out a lot sooner. Having previously commented on the man’s ridiculously flamboyant handwriting on more than several occasions, it should've been blindingly obvious.

This has Peter Hale written all over it. Figuratively speaking.

"Thought you could do with loosening up a little.” Stiles can practically hear the man's unbothered shrug as well as his cocksure smirk. “Pun unintentional."

He shakes his head in exasperation, mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping in water. “I have no words.”

“There’s a first,” Peter snipes under his breath, but before Stiles can hit him with a retort, he continues undeterred, “did you open the card?”

“Card?” Stiles puts the toy and its box onto the bed in favor of using his hands to search the sheets for any sign of the aforementioned card. “There’s no-” Just as the words leave his mouth, he spots a splash of pink at the corner of his eye.

He bends towards the floor, now seeing clearly the small rectangle envelope lying half under the bed. It must’ve fallen earlier in his haste to open the box, focus too heavily invested in the gift to notice any accompanying note.

“Got it,” he mumbles distractedly into the phone, fingers fiddling with the flap, cursing Peter’s glue-like saliva as it takes him a few tries. In the end, he gives up the pretense of delicacy, instead ripping at the paper, curiosity forcing his hands to work quicker.

Surprisingly, the card itself remains undamaged; he unfolds the tiny plain pink note, instinctively reading the flowing gold lettering aloud, “ _be mine_.”

There are a few moments of silence before Stiles snorts—he couldn’t hold it in even if he tried. “Seriously, Peter?”

“What?” the wolf demands; Stiles would think he was offended if he wasn’t already intimate with the man’s particular brand of humor. “It’s romantic.”

"Since when does buying someone a dildo for Valentine’s Day equate to romance?" Stiles deadpans, rolling his eyes to such an extent he’s sure the wolf will be able to sense the strain, but there’s still a slight uptick to the corner of his mouth.

"Vibrator," Peter corrects, amusement lacing the word.

"A vibrator that doesn't-" his words cut off when the toy in his hand begins to shake as if on command. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh_."

Stiles gulps audibly, "you have the remote?"

"Correction, it's an _app_ , but yes, yes, I do."

"Christ," he curses under his breath, palming himself through his jeans, his cock already twitching to life.

"What do you say, sweetheart?” Peter purrs, no doubt able to clock Stiles’ pique of interest, his heart threatening to leap out his throat. “Fancy letting me make you feel good? Talk to you until you come undone?"

He’s fully hard now, Peter's voice doing filthy things to him, making his body shiver in the most delicious ways. "God, yes."

Peter hums in delight, voice dropping impossibly lower, "take off your clothes, grab your lube, and lie back on the bed. Can you do that for me?"

Stiles feels as if he’s about to combust, this whole situation throwing him for a loop. Not that he’s mad about it, Lord knows he’s been waiting for the day one of them finally quits dancing around and makes a move; he just didn’t suspect Peter to be the first to cave. He thought he’d have a few more months of pining before the wolf made good on his flirtations.

Granted, Peter isn’t the sort of man to deny himself what he wants, especially when it comes to things of a carnal nature, so there’s obviously an unspoken reason for his delay. What that might be, Stiles isn’t sure, but he doesn’t much care since it's clear the man has now set aside his reservations to take their relationship into uncharted territory.

Territory of the _sexy_ variety, in case that wasn’t clear.

_Finally._

Stiles knows it shouldn’t surprise him that instead of flowers as a token of courtship, he gets a vibrator, but rest assured he’ll be having words with the man later regarding his love language. For now, though…

"Yes."

"Yes, _what?_ ” the wolf prompts, patient as he waits for Stiles’ answer.

He thinks a moment, brain short-circuiting with how rapidly their relationship is going from lingering touches and flirty banter at pack meetings to straight-up phone sex.

It also doesn’t help that all the intelligence he once possessed is now merrily relocating itself towards his dick.

Makes it quite difficult for one to concentrate, would you believe?

It’s only when he’s taken a deep breath does he recall a comment he’d made a few weeks ago, a taunting repartee to one of Peter’s sarcastic remarks. He distinctly remembers how it earned him a flash of beta blue eyes and a hint of fang. He’d dismissed it at the time, but now, he reckons that knee-jerk reaction wasn’t down to Peter having his usual tantrum from being bested.

He swallows thickly, throwing caution to the wind, “yes... _Daddy_."

The primal growl now vibrating against his ear lets him know he guessed right, and he couldn’t be more pleased with the result.

"My perfect boy."

~

Stiles has spent the last few minutes, hours, _days_ (that's possibly a gross exaggeration, but who’s judging?) obeying every command flowing through the speaker, the phone now laying safely on his bedside table as his hands are otherwise occupied.

His clothes have long since been discarded, lying in disarray across the whole room. Peter has him sprawled on his back across the bed, fingering himself open, muttering the odd reassurance in response to Stiles’ pitiful mewls.

Three digits are plunged deep inside his aching hole, sweat glistening across his creamy skin, legs fallen wide as he fucks himself, anticipation making his body sing.

“Are you nice and stretched for me, sweetheart?” Peter asks, voice a deliciously low rumble, still loud and clear even with the slight distance now between the phone and Stiles’ ears. “Or do you need a little more?”

“I-I’m ready.” Stiles doesn’t recognize his own voice, broken and needy as it rasps from his throat.

Peter hums in approval, “very well, grab the toy, baby, and push it in nice and slow.”

Stiles takes the muted vibrator in his hand, spreading gel along the solid length as he settles more comfortably, his legs opening wider for better access. He lets out a pleased sigh as he slides the slick metal past the tight muscle, gradually working it in and out until it’s settled to the hilt.

He takes a moment to savor the subtle ache, which quickly gives way to the heady feeling of being full. The toy is by no means unrealistic in size, but it’s thicker and longer than his fingers, bigger than anything he’s had inside him before. It’s strange, but a _good_ strange, amazing in fact, the emptiness he hadn’t realized he felt dissipating with every inch pushing in is something he knows his body will now crave.

Stiles arches off the bed, a broken cry echoing across his tongue as the first buzzing wave attacks those sweet nerves inside him, hips rising from the mattress as he struggles to get used to the relentless pulses of sensation.

“That’s just the first setting,” Peter comments, the predatory darkness in his voice betraying the casual words. “It has two more. It’s quite a powerful little thing. Do you think you can handle it, baby?”

Stiles pants, gritting his teeth in an effort to concentrate on the question. It takes an urging hum before he manages to speak, “yes, Daddy, I-I can handle it.”

“Good boy.”

The praise sparks something in Stiles’ gut, warmth permeating through him, right down to his toes. The rawness in the man’s voice making his belly tighten; if he had enough brain capacity to think straight, he’d be embarrassed at how quickly he’s already so close to the edge.

With the hand not holding the base of the toy, he reaches down to grab his cock in his fist; he swipes his thumb over the wetness gathering at the tip, shivering at the sensitivity. The left-over lube sticking to his fingers eases the glide as he strokes himself in time with each intense tremor.

“I don’t remember saying you could touch yourself, sweetheart.”

Stiles’ hand freezes, fingers retracting from his heated skin instinctively. His eyes scan the room, wholeheartedly expecting the wolf to be standing in the corner, watching his every movement. He pushes aside the slight twinge of disappointment when he discovers he’s still alone. “How did you-”

“I can hear it, baby; the quickening of your heartbeat, the obscene squelch of your hand against bare skin.” Peter groans through the speaker, the sound of someone struggling for composure.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Stiles hears himself mumble, an uncharacteristic meekness coating his words.

“It’s alright,” Peter comforts him, hushing him lightly. “I just want you to come without your hands anywhere near that pretty cock of yours. Do you think you can do that?”

“I-I’ll try.”

“Such a good boy. Get on your knees for me, love, put one of your pillows between your thighs, then hold onto the headboard."

Stiles complies without hesitation, scrambling onto his knees, moaning lewdly as the vibrator jostles inside him. He quickly stuffs a pillow underneath him, straddling it, his hands reaching out to grab onto one of the wooden slats.

"Close your eyes,” Peter instructs. “Imagine you're riding me, baby, grinding down on my cock."

The toy pushes deeper as he spreads his thighs apart, lowering himself until his ass is fully absorbed in the plush cushion, fingers curling tighter to the point of blooming white. He uses the headboard for leverage as his hips begin a dirty rut against the pillow. His eyelids are scrunched together, mouth hanging open, panting through each zing of pleasure bursting through him as he listens intently to the tide of profanity that tumbles out of Peter’s mouth.

Every circle of his hips bumps the vibrator towards his sweet spot; without the use of his hands, he only has his thighs, the arch of his back, and the clench of his muscles to help keep the toy lodged where he needs it. His cock drags lightly against the soft fabric on every few bucks of his hips, leaking profusely as it bobs between his trembling thighs. He bows his back further inwards, chasing the sweet friction he needs to push him over the edge, grunting in frustration as the change in position makes it harder to control the toy inside him.

Stiles screws his eyes harder in concentration, the dark space filling with images of Peter naked beneath him. Rock hard muscles sheened with sweat, the tendons in his thick, lickable neck pulsing with every breath, the phantom bite of claws digging into his hips, his cock hollowing him out, ruining him for everyone else, animalistic grunts and growls proving encouragements as he ruts up into him.

Stiles keens, high and desperate, his body begging for something more, craving the wolf's touch, gentle or rough, his deft fingers wrapping around him, nails scratching, mouth hot, wet, and seeking.

He needs more.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” the wolf soothes. “Daddy will get you there; just be patient.”

His body shudders as the vibrations increase to the second setting, Peter chuckling softly at the surprised hitch in his breath, the loud moan that rips from his lungs. The wolf knows the extent of his desperation, milking the situation for all its worth, no doubt relishing in every pained pleasurable groan, every vexed rumble.

He's going to make him beg for it.

“Please,” Stiles pleads, pitching his voice higher to better appeal to the last slither of the wolf’s sympathetic nature. “I need-”

“I know what you need, love,” Peter cuts him off with a gentle croon, tone dripping with affection. “But you’re going to be a good boy and keep those hands where I asked you to put them, okay?”

Tears cascade from Stiles’ closed eyes, trailing down his flushed cheeks. He nods his head, a few droplets splashing onto his thighs before he remembers Peter can’t see the motion. “Yes, Daddy.”

“You’re such a good boy for me, Stiles. You have no idea what you’re doing to me." Peter sounds wrecked, each word slurred as if hissed through teeth too sharp to be considered human. "Those pretty sounds you make, the way your breath rips from your lungs with every vibration is driving me insane. Gods, I can’t even begin to imagine how delicious you smell right now. You’re dripping for me, aren’t you, baby? I’ll bet your sheets are soaked. "

Stiles bites his lip to stifle a whimper, the filth falling from Peter's mouth too much to handle, combined with the inclination that the wolf is fiercely turned on just by listening to him, just by the _thought_ of him, threatens to send every one of his senses into overdrive.

"It’s taking every ounce of willpower in me not to come over there and do everything I’ve ever dreamed of doing to you," Peter continues, and Stiles is definitely not just fantasizing the slick, sticky noises accompanying the labored words through the device.

The thought of Peter stroking himself, fucking into his fist, makes Stiles feel helplessly dizzy.

He's so close he can taste it; he just needs a little more incentive.

"Tell me what you'd do, Daddy," Stiles pleads. "Please, tell me."

"Oh baby," Peter rasps, the rhythmic beating of his hand speeding up, becoming sloppy and unco-ordinated. "I'd bite and suck marks into your beautiful skin, leave no part of you uncovered, make sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to.”

Goosebumps tingle over his flesh, Stiles envisioning stark bruises littering his arms, legs, chest, and anywhere he can blatantly display to the world.

He’d wear the imprints of Peter’s teeth with pride, the dull ache and various shades of purple a divine reminder of the wolf’s claim.

“I'd take my time worshipping every inch of you,” Peter continues, painting a vivid picture of Stiles’ heavenly demise. “Pull out that toy so I can taste you, use my tongue until you're sobbing, until you're begging for me to fill your tight little ass with my cock.”

Stiles would beg, God, he’d _scream_ for it. Writhe and thrash underneath the wolf’s dominating bulk, howl for the man to let him come.

"Please," Stiles whimpers, not entirely sure what he's asking for any more, so delirious with desire he can no longer form a coherent sentence.

Peter snarls, the power behind it shoots straight through Stiles like a bolt of electricity, shattering any shred of control he may have still held over his body. “I want to fuck you until you can't take it anymore; pound you into the mattress until the only word your sinful mouth can cry is my fucking name."

“Yes, yes, yes,” Stiles chants desperately, every single muscle contracting, hips undulating wildly, the flames finally rising to engulf him. "Please, Daddy, I-"

"That's it,” Peter coaxes, the words accompanied by the deafening hum of the toy’s final surge of power. “Come for me, baby, let me hear you."

Stiles shakes violently as he comes hard; Peter’s name nothing more than a hoarse cry on his tongue as he paints the sheets beneath him. His vision swarms with specks of white as every inch of his body tenses, distantly aware of Peter's raw growl through the speaker, his hips stuttering as the primal sound sends a few aftershocks of pleasure through his belly. 

He falls boneless onto the mattress, the buzz finally shutting off just as the sensitivity becomes too much to bear, a sated sigh leaving him as the last tremors taper off. Peter whispers soft, near breathless praise into his ear through his high, relaxing him as he floats back down to earth.

Eventually, after gaining back the use of the bare minimum amount of muscle, he removes the vibrator, hissing at the sensation, casting it aside to deal with later.

Right now, he’s not confident his legs could carry him to the bathroom for clean-up, his body fully lax and sated.

"Rest, my darling," Peter says after a moment, the easy endearment eliciting a smile that Stiles can’t seem to hold back.

“Okay, Daddy,” he mumbles sluggishly, words leaving his mouth without much thought as he switches off his lamp and cocoons himself under the cozy duvet. “Love you.”

A sharp inhale—that doesn’t come from himself—sobers him instantly, but before he can backtrack, or better yet, explain himself through excessive trademark rambling, the line disconnects, and Stiles can’t stop the brick of dread sinking to the bottom of his gut.

_Shit._

Peter probably just wanted to pass the time, to get off to something more interactive than run of the mill porn and then see where things progressed from there. Murder was most likely higher on the wolf's list of possible ways he could end this evening’s festivities than declarations of love, but Stiles just had to go ahead and fuck that up.

He’s such an idiot.

Stiles rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling, but he barely gets the chance to work himself into a panic, doesn’t even have time to visualize his new life once he’s packed up shop and left the country when a subtle click has him bolting upright.

His heart thumps wildly in his chest, the sound vibrating against his throat, the pitch black of the room doing nothing to curb his fear.

The outline of a silhouette creeps into view, a pair of bright, sparkling blue eyes lighting up the room, and Stiles lets all the air he'd been holding out in a long breath. "Peter?"

The wolf strides towards him, kneeling in front of the bed, fingers reaching out to thread through his hair. "I'm here, baby," he whispers softly, _soothing._ “I’m here.”

"What are you- How did you get here so fast?"

The wolf’s eyes cast to the floor; if Stiles didn’t know any better, he would think the man looked ashamed. “I was sitting in my car outside.”

Stiles blinks, lips thinning and cheeks expanding as he tries his best to keep his true feelings from bursting out.

His efforts prove futile.

"Why the hell doesn’t that surprise me?" he laughs heartily, arm extending to trail his knuckles over the wolf’s stubbled jaw, grin stuck across his face as Peter unwittingly leans into the gesture. “Why didn’t you come in earlier?”

Peter glares at his unrestrained chuckles for a moment, but it’s obvious there’s no heat behind it. Especially with his mirroring smile. “If I’d been here, watching you, I wouldn’t have been able to hold myself back. Just hearing you was maddening enough.”

Stiles’ chest swells at having such an effect on the wolf, knowing the man’s control wavered with just hearing him moan through his pleasure makes his cock throb valiantly. It’s empowering.

“I wouldn’t have minded," Stiles says honestly. "I know what you are, Peter, _who_ you are. The beast inside you doesn’t scare me.”

“It should.”

“Hm, probably." Stiles shrugs. "But I think we’ve already established I have zero self-preservation, and I’m not exactly society's depiction of ‘normal’, so you’re gonna have to try harder if you wanna put me off.”

Peter exhales a laugh, “you’re perfect.”

Stiles beams, stretching out both arms, making grabby hands. Peter smiles down at him fondly, leaning in to rub his scruff over his cheek, scenting, body moving in close so Stiles can wrap him in his arms.

Peter mouths along his jaw, nipping and licking until he reaches his lips. The kiss is so wonderfully tender that Stiles just melts into it, his mouth parting on a sigh as the wolf's hot tongue seeks access.

It doesn't get much more heated, not in a way that would lead to sex, but he can still sense the undertone of desperation in Peter's movements, the needy sounds rolling from his chest saying 'I love you, too' louder than the words ever could. He’s never felt more wanted; it's as if the man is addicted after one simple taste and is now hellbent on drinking in every ounce of Stiles' essence, content to drown in it.

The wolf's palm cradles the back of his head, pulling him impossibly closer; Stiles follows willingly, opening his lips wider to give the wolf as much access as he desires, eager to feel claimed.

When Peter breaks away, he doesn’t move out of Stiles' space; he rests their foreheads together, noses a hair from touching as they share each other’s heavy breaths. The wolf's eyes have fallen closed, his face thoroughly blissed out, as if kissing Stiles brought him more pleasure than anything he’s ever experienced.

After a moment, Peter's lashes flutter open, his pupils blown black, any hint of their former icy blue washed away with the wave of burning lust.

Stiles has never had anyone look at him with such an intense mixture of hunger and love. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

The wolf eventually leans back, and Stiles feels a hint of panic rising within him at the thought of Peter leaving him now. Before he even realizes his hand is moving, Stiles reaches out, fingers clutching onto the man’s t-shirt. "Stay," he murmurs in a rush, more a plea than a question.

“Don’t worry, baby,” the wolf responds with a kind smile, thumb tracing over Stiles’ cheekbone. “I'm not going anywhere; just let me clean you up a little."

With one last peck, Peter wanders off to the bathroom, coming back several moments later with a damp cloth in his palm. The wolf urges him to spread his legs so he can trail the warm fabric over his still flushed skin, meticulously wiping up the drying mess of lube and come from between his thighs.

Once he’s seemingly content that he’s cleaned up every last drop, Peter discards the cloth on the floor before making his way to the opposite side of the bed. Stiles settles back under the covers, steering clear of the wet spot as the wolf climbs in behind him, shoes discarded somewhere unimportant on the floor. He circles his arm around Stiles’ torso, bringing him close to his chest.

Stiles chases the warmth, threading his fingers through the hand Peter has wrapped around him as he snuggles into the man’s embrace, giggling mischievously at the halfhearted snarl he receives for _unintentionally_ grinding against the wolf. 

They lay there for several quiet moments, Stiles gradually drifting out of consciousness with the comfortable silence.

A rarity for him. 

“So," Peter starts; Stiles minutely tenses at the possibilities of where the unexpected sentence could go. "I take it this means you’re _mine?_ ” the man nudges playfully, the question dripping with mirth. 

Stiles releases the tension through his nose, snorting at the memory of the corny words on the card. “You really gotta work on your seduction skills.”

Peter scoffs in faux indignation, “I’ll have you know; I’m excellent at seduction. You said it yourself; you’re not normal, so why would I follow tradition and buy you flowers and take you to dinner?”

“Fair," Stiles agrees. "Although food would've been nice too.”

The wolf’s hold tightens protectively, almost possessive, nose burrowing into the back of his neck as he inhales greedily. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

A fond smile spreads across Stiles’ lips, even though it's been made abundantly obvious Peter’s intentions, the spoken promise of a _next time_ still makes his heart flutter.

"Cliche pick-up lines aside,” Stiles mumbles, eyes beginning to droop heavily, “to answer the question directly… yes, I’m yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I wrote something sweeter than I'd planned, though I tried my best not to lose too much of the banter in the process.
> 
> If I need to add more tags or warnings, please let me know for future readers.
> 
> I don't post much, but you are most welcome to come say hi to me on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com).
> 
> Stay safe and take care!


End file.
